by Cheryl Holt
“But she’s not married yet, is she?”
“No, and if I have my way, she won’t be. Not to Kristof. Never to Kristof.”
Nicholas had observed Mr. Blair with Katarina. They’d been very friendly, but it had been Isabelle who’d pointed out they were in love. It would take a girl to notice such a thing, but after she’d explained the situation, he’d noted their affection too.
If Katarina married anyone, she should marry Mr. Blair. And Nicholas didn’t care that Mr. Blair wasn’t royal. He wanted his sister to be happy. He wanted all of them to be happy.
There was a bit of a commotion in the crowd, and Nicholas glanced up to see guards approaching. Four of them marched by, with Isabelle in the center. She didn’t appear to be having any difficulty, but obviously they were escorting her somewhere.
He nearly called out to her, but Mr. Blair squeezed his leg, urging him to silence.
The group kept on and vanished into the throng, so very quickly there was no sign that Isabelle had passed by.
“Where are they taking her?” Mr. Blair asked, lowering his voice even more.
“I don’t know, but they just tried to force me to go with them too. I snuck away.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“I need to get away from the palace. Could you help me?”
“Of course.” Mr. Blair didn’t turn around. “I have a room at an inn in the village. We’ll pretend you’re my son. No one will question it.”
Very discreetly, he slid off his knitted cap, and he handed it to Nicholas. Nicholas pulled it on, covering much of his face. Mr. Blair riffled through a satchel and found a wool sweater, and he handed that back as well. It was too long and too big, but Nicholas tugged it on, and in an instant, he might have been an apprentice out making deliveries.
Mr. Blair stood and stretched. “I’m cold and hungry.” He spoke a tad louder so people could hear. “I’ve had enough of selling for now. Let’s eat a hot dinner, and we’ll come back later. Maybe the shoppers will open their purses by then.”
“Yes, Father,” Nicholas said.
He snatched up the silk fabrics and stuffed them into the satchel. Then he picked up the blanket, and they folded it together as if they’d done it a thousand times prior. Nicholas carried the blanket, while Mr. Blair hoisted the satchel over his shoulder. He laid a palm on the small of Nicholas’s back, guiding him down the narrow, busy street.
In a flash Nicholas was free and away and once again being protected by Mr. Blair. He felt safer and more secure than he had in many, many months.
* * * *
The door to Kat’s chamber burst open, and Dmitri stormed in with a gaggle of guards behind him.
She’d been sitting in the corner, staring out the window, watching a light dusting of snowflakes drift by. Her women were knitting, playing games, but she was ignoring them. She was practically dizzy with plotting as to how to evade the marital noose that was choking her, and she couldn’t abide more bickering with Dmitri.
She wondered if he understood the punishments he’d have to endure should his beloved Kristof die or lose the throne. Kat and her two siblings had suffered such insult and offense from Dmitri. Did he recognize the perilous spot in which he’d placed himself?
He was an idiot, so probably not, but he ought to pray each and every night that Kristof lived to be a very old man.
“Where is your brother?” he demanded.
“I have no idea. Last I saw of him, he was on his way to Kristof. I assume that’s where he went.”
“He did not arrive.”
“My brother is thirteen now, as he constantly reminds me. I’m sure he’s off enjoying his own pursuits, and he’ll attend Kristof when he’s good and ready. But he will attend him. I can’t imagine why you’re in such a dither about it.”
“Where is your brother?” He bellowed the question.
Her ladies shifted uneasily, anxiously glancing at Kat, at Dmitri. With each passing day, palace affairs grew more tense, civil unrest more apparent. Dmitri’s sour mood provided stark evidence that people weren’t happy.
Kat rose very slowly, and Princess Morovsky surged to the fore. For too much of her life, she’d been meek and obsequious, so Dmitri regularly forgot who he was and who she was.
She sidled over until they were toe to toe. He was taller than she was, and he was a bully who liked to lord himself over others. Too bad for him but he would never be in a position to boss her, despite how he wished he could.
“Get out of my chamber,” she furiously said.
“I will not leave until you tell me where you’ve hidden him.”
“I swear, Dmitri, you are more deranged by the second.”
“We have your sister,” he spat.
She kept her expression carefully blank. “You have Isabelle. What is that supposed to mean to me?”
“She will be the King’s insurance that the festivities proceed smoothly.”
Kat smirked. So Kristof was nervous was he? So Kristof was afraid Kat wouldn’t behave as he’d commanded her? Good. Let the stupid ass fret and fuss.
“Am I to presume,” she asked, “that you’re looking for His Royal Highness, the Prince of Parthenia, for the same reason? You and your paltry men are to keep him under lock and key?”
She barked the words, wanting all the spectators to hear her. Gossip about the incident would flow through the halls the minute Dmitri left.
“Yes, he will be locked in too,” Dmitri admitted. “No matter where you’ve concealed him, we will find him.”
“Is the King arresting them? My siblings are to be imprisoned—three days before my wedding?”
Behind her, several of her women tittered with affront, and Dmitri finally realized he was being a fiend, that rumors would spread like wildfire.
“No one is arresting them,” he firmly stated.
“You couldn’t prove it by me. Where have you taken my sister?”
“She’s in her rooms.”
“But she’s not free to leave?”
“Well…ah…”
“Get out of here,” she repeated. “I order you to go to my sister. Inform her that I will be there at once to check on her condition. She had better be fine.”
“Or what, Your Grace?”
“You don’t think I can do anything to you, do you? You view yourself as being so powerful and so smart. Shortly I’ll be your queen.”
“I don’t serve you, Your Grace. I serve my king.”
“As I serve mine,” she seethed, and she shouted, “Get out!”
“Listen to me, woman.”
“It’s Your. Royal. Highness.”
She started to spin away, and he had the audacity to reach out and, for just an instant, it appeared that he would lay a hand on her. Everyone, including his men, was aghast at the breach of protocol. He noted the frowns, and his arm dropped to his side.
He glared at her, his hatred exhausting, and she couldn’t figure out why he disliked her so much. Before the coup, she’d always been courteous to him. Her father had always been kind. Somehow she’d made an enemy, but she wasn’t bothered over it.
This was a battle she had every intention of winning.
“Your Grace,” he said with a tight smile, “I can see your brother is not with you. We will search for him elsewhere.”
He huffed out, his retinue trailing after him like trained puppies. Kat went the other direction, into her bedchamber where she could close the door.
“What to do? What to do?” she murmured to herself as she paced.
Isabelle was detained, and Nicholas was missing. She was so weary of Parthenia, and she was ready to depart and never return. Could she sneak away? Nicholas wanted to, but with him and Isabelle being watched so meticulously, it would be more difficult than ever to flee.
She’d been dawdling for months, trying to devise a plan, but in all actuality she’d been hoping Bryce would come, expecting Bryce would come. She absolutely could not believe that he’d
forsaken her, but apparently he had, and she couldn’t keep waiting for him to arrive and rescue her. She had to rescue herself. She had to rescue Nicholas and Isabelle.
She would not and could not marry Kristof. She would find a way out of the palace, out of the city, out of the country. She and her siblings would run so far and so fast that not even the hounds of Hell would be able to catch them. They would continue until they found a safe place, and they wouldn’t stop until they did.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“I need to sneak into the palace,” Bryce said, “but I won’t leave you here by yourself.”
Bryce looked over at Nicholas. They were in Bryce’s rented room, discussing their options. Nicholas was eager to depart Parthenia once and for all, and Bryce was happy to take him, but first they had to rescue Isabelle and Kat.
With Bryce not having any friends to serve as back-up, and his one arm not as strong as it had been, he wasn’t certain how he’d manage. If they had to stand and fight, it would be over quickly, and Bryce would only have made matters worse.
Nicholas was a fine boy who would grow to be a fine man, and Bryce was glad Valois had convinced him to travel to Parthenia. Even if he never managed to speak with Kat, he was relieved to know Nicholas had been watching for Bryce to arrive. He hadn’t let Nicholas down, and he would try very hard to always live up to Nicholas’s high expectations.
“If I wear a hat,” Nicholas said, “I’m safe on the streets in town. I just oughtn’t to go into the palace. My cousin, Kristof, isn’t very bright. If he’s searching for me, it would never occur to him that I’d be out among the rabble.”
“We have to liberate both your sisters, but I’m having a difficult time figuring out how we’d accomplish it.”
“We’ll think of something.” Nicholas’s confidence in Bryce’s abilities was much greater than Bryce’s own. “I have every faith in you.”
“I’m starving, so I’d like to find some dinner.”
“I’m starving too.”
“Then we should stop by a livery to see if we can buy or rent some horses. If we can get your sisters out of the palace—”
“When we get them out,” Nicholas interrupted.
“I want to have horses ready. We’ll have to ride like the wind. We can’t putter along in a carriage.”
“Agreed.”
“Do your sisters ride?”
Nicholas grinned. “Like the wind.”
“Wonderful.”
“And don’t forget. Parthenia is a very small country, so if we use the main road, it’s about fourteen miles to the border. Once we’re over it, Kristof’s men can’t follow us.”
“Well, they weren’t supposed to have much authority in Egypt either, but they managed to kidnap you and almost kill me. I’m not willing to assume that a mere border will give us any protection.”
“You’re correct of course,” Nicholas said.
“Are you sure about this, Nicholas? If you flee, you’re probably surrendering your father’s throne forever.”
“I realize that.”
“I intend to proceed to England with the three of you. We’ll race to Calais in France and cross the Channel. After we’re in London, we’ll have land and sea between us and Kristof. Even then I’m not positive how safe you’ll be, but you have to be prepared to accept what you’ll be relinquishing.”
“Katarina keeps telling me the same, and I understand the consequences. For now I can’t allow Kristof to harm my sisters. It’s the only important issue. In a few years, when I’m an adult, I can fight my own battles. I’ll be older and tougher, and I can retake my own throne. Katarina won’t have to fight my battles for me.”
“That’s an excellent plan.” Bryce smiled and patted him on the shoulder. “You’re a good brother, Nicholas. Your father would be proud of you.”
“Thank you.”
He dipped his head, a regal gesture of acknowledgement, and Bryce was charmed as always. Nicholas was so mature and polite, so smart and interesting. He’d been raised to be a king, and he definitely showed it in his stellar manners and calm temperament.
When they’d been in Egypt, Bryce had recognized Nicholas was special, but he would never have guessed he was a royal prince. Or maybe he would have. Nicholas wasn’t like any other boy Bryce had ever known.
“Let’s eat,” Bryce said, “then check on the horses.”
“I’m coming with you then?”
“Yes. I don’t think I should leave you alone, but if we bump into any guards, you have to slip away. We’ll meet back here.”
“I’ll be fine. As I mentioned, I doubt very much they’ll be looking for me among the common people.”
They bundled up in sweaters and hats and went out into the chilly afternoon. It wasn’t that cold, but after Bryce’s extended sojourn in the desert, he was constantly freezing, and Parthenia was a mountainous country.
The town was nestled in a lovely valley, with the palace on a promontory up above. Off in the distance, he could see snow-capped peaks. It was late autumn, so without warning, a winter storm could blow in. He hoped—once he found a way to abscond with the Morovsky siblings—that they wouldn’t be caught in an early blizzard.
With how his luck was running, he’d succeed in saving them only to perish in a snow storm.
They bought some meat pies from a street vendor, then kept on to a livery that was on the edge of town and the perfect place for a fast getaway. They were talking quietly, deciding Nicholas would wait outside while Bryce haggled with the owner.
They walked along, and they were marking alleys and alcoves where Nicholas could hide if he had to, and Bryce was fretting whether it would have been better to have left him at the inn. But what if guards had stumbled on him while Bryce was away? What was best?
For the moment, Bryce was determined not to let Nicholas out of his sight.
They approached the barn, and as they neared, two men exited the building. They were tall and dark-haired, and as Bryce glanced at their faces, he realized they were identical twins.
He scowled, abruptly swamped by the strangest feeling of disorientation. There was a ringing in his ears, the sound giving him such vertigo he was almost too dizzy to remain standing.
“What is it?” Nicholas whispered.
“I…I…know those men.”
Nicholas tensed. “Should I run?”
“No, no, I have to be mistaken.” Bryce scoffed at his foolishness. “I was thinking they were from London, but that’s not possible. There’s no reason for me to meet someone from home. I just…just…”
The twins hadn’t noticed Bryce yet, but they kept coming in his direction. One of them peered over at Bryce, and Bryce murmured, “Michael…Scott? Is that you?”
Michael Scott was a renowned criminal and London gambling club owner who catered to the wealthy sons of the aristocracy. Rumors had always swirled that he smuggled liquor too, that he blackmailed and robbed. He was extremely wealthy from his illegal enterprises and was supposed to be incredibly violent too, but Bryce had never witnessed any misbehavior.
He had simply wagered at the man’s club but had never been introduced. The last time Bryce had seen him had been at a musical soiree when Evangeline had been singing, and Bryce had accompanied her on the harpsichord. It was shortly before Bryce had sailed to Egypt.
Suddenly Bryce thought of the letter he’d received from Evangeline when he was still staying with Valois. His breath hitched in his chest.
She’d claimed she’d located their twin brothers. She’d claimed Mr. Scott was one of them, but that he was actually Michael Blair and his surname had been changed when he was a boy. The other, Matthew, was a soldier in the army.
Bryce’s mind was awhirl as he tried to recall everything Evangeline had penned, while also trying to make sense of bumping into them in Parthenia. Fleetingly he wondered if he wasn’t hallucinating, and he blinked and blinked, but the men were real and right in front of him.
Mr. Scott had stop
ped in his tracks. His jaw agape, he appeared as thunderstruck as Bryce.
“Oh, my Lord,” Mr. Scott mumbled. “Bryce? Bryce Blair? Is it you?”
“Yes, it’s me, Bryce Blair.”
Mr. Scott’s twin grinned. “We found you? Truly?”
Bryce was so stunned he couldn’t move, and the twins were stunned too. The three of them were frozen in their spots, smiling, studying one another. Then Michael blustered over, his twin marching with him, their strides exactly the same.
“You remember me from London, don’t you?” Michael Scott asked.
“Evangeline wrote to me while I was in Egypt. She said…said…” Bryce couldn’t force out the words.
“So you know who we are.”
“She said you’re my brothers.”
“She’s correct.”
Bryce was so shocked his knees buckled, and he collapsed to the ground. His heart was pounding so hard he worried it might simply burst out of his chest.
The twins leapt forward and grabbed his arms, keeping him on his knees so he didn’t fall the rest of the way and land flat on his face. Poor Nicholas was terrified, and he cried, “Mr. Blair! Mr. Blair! What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong, Nicholas. I’m fine. I’m very, very fine.”
Bryce’s vision had faded, and it dawned on him that he was weeping, tears dripping down his cheeks. He swiped at them with his hand.
“Oh, my God, oh my God,” he muttered over and over.
“Here now,” Michael gently soothed, “there’s no need to be so upset. Let’s get you on your feet.”
His brothers lifted him, and the three of them stood in a tight circle, Bryce scrutinizing their features. He had an old portrait of their father, and the twins looked exactly like him. There wasn’t a whisker of difference.
Bryce had been five when his father had been killed, but on seeing the twins, he felt as if he was staring at the man, as if not a day had passed.
“I’m your brother, Michael,” Michael said.
“You were Michael Scott in London.”
“Yes, I was given the name at an orphanage. I was too young to realize I shouldn’t have let them change it.”
“All these years, we were crossing paths.”
